Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Tajikistan and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Black Flag to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Crash Course in Science. All the underground hits.
All Red Lorry Yellow Lorry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rod Modell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gladiators,
Bobby Sherman,
Tropical Tobacco,
Janne Schatter,
Deadbeat,
Pussy Galore,
Bobby Byrd,
Anthony Braxton,
Bill Near,
Letta Mbulu,
Boz Scaggs,
Absolute Body Control,
48th St. Collective,
The Pretty Things,
Country Teasers,
AZ,
Moebius,
Underground Resistance,
Mission of Burma,
Lebanon Hanover,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
T.S.O.L.,
Sound Behaviour,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Electric Prunes,
Mad Mike,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Animal Collective,
Zapp,
Clear Light,
Interpol,
Unrelated Segments,
Easy Going,
Qualms,
New Order,
The Last Poets,
Scientists,
Alison Limerick,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Crispian St. Peters,
Maurizio,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Grauzone,
Lalo Schifrin,
Gang Gang Dance,
Radio Birdman,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Main Source,
Drexciya,
The Invisible,
Blossom Toes,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Pulsallama,
In Retrospect,
Prince Buster,
Laurel Aitken,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Panda Bear,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Pylon,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.